Time Waits For No Woman
by Aietradaea
Summary: A quick glimpse behind the scenes of Brownbug's "One Moment in Time" series.  Master/OC, Jack/OC, Jack/Amy, Jack/Monopoly, Hart/OC, Castellan/Inquisitor/Maxil, Master/Eleven/River, Hart/Hart/Hart/Hart/Hart.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimers and Stuff:**

This little piece is tagged to chapter 26 of Brownbug's fabulous fanfic, "Return to The Valiant" (ID 6441335), and is part of the 'verse created in my own "Time and Time Again: The Bloopers" (ID 5947196). Basically, the 'verse is based around the premise of creating fanfiction with the aid of the fictional characters (**not** the actors) involved, all working around the events and canon of the fanfiction.

All in fun, of course - and yes, I do have the approval of Brownbug to bring you this quick glimpse behind the scenes of her fanfiction.

* * *

"Where _are_ they?" Idly picking at her nails with the corner of the Doctor's psychic paper, Amy leaned against the edge of a desk and fixed the Doctor with a peevish glare. "_You_ said they weren't going anywhere."

"I said they weren't going to a _place_, Pond," the Doctor replied matter-of-factly. "Not _nowhere_, but not quite _somewhere_ either. Not an easy place to film a fanfiction."

"So why couldn't we have gone?"

"Well, technically _you_ could have gone..."

"...which would have made the waiting that much more bearable for the rest of us, I'm sure," the Master interrupted as the Freecell cards on the screen of the Torchwood computer flew into their cells. He pushed off the desk and rolled across the Hub on his chair, spinning slowly until brought up short by a sharp kick from Jack.

"And _you_ can stay put," Jack growled, fingering the gun warningly. "This isn't a prop, you know." The Master rolled his eyes, leaned back in the chair and began to revolve slowly on the spot, glancing at Jack every now and then with a barely-disguised grin. With the danger posed by what was contained in the cells below the Hub, the health and safety inspectors of FanFiction HQ had deemed it necessary to seal off their entire set until the Director and the Author returned from the other set.

"Suppose someone needs to keep an eye on you boys," said Amy with a wink at Jack. "So. Doctor. Why am I the only one who could've gone to the other set, then?"

"For the same reason the Director could only go as a holographic projection," the Doctor explained. "Females only. The next scene takes place inside the hive-consciousness of Legion."

"So...hang on a minute." Jack suddenly seemed particularly attentive, even taking his eyes off the Master for a moment. "You're saying that out there somewhere is some sort of nether-world with a whole bunch of..."

"Hallucinating, emotionally-vulnerable women," the Doctor finished. "Yes, Jack - one of whom is my daughter."

"And one's my wife," the Master put in, possibly more to remind them of his presence than out of protectiveness over Lucy.

"_THE MANY GROW IMPATIENT_," Legion's voice thundered through the reinforced door suddenly, startling everyone in the Hub.

"Oh, shut it, you," the Master snapped, thumping on the door with his fist.

"_YOU WILL BE THE FIRST, TIME LORD_," the demon returned, its rasping voice raising the hairs on the back of Amy's neck. "_WE DO NOT DELAY FOR THE TRIVIAL CONCERNS OF FANFICTION. WE WILL DRINK YOU DRY..._"

"Like to see you try, Sparky," the Master called. There was a howl of inhuman fury and then silence. "Sulking," the Master muttered, kicking off a railing to resume whirling on the chair.

...

Penetrating the deathly silence that hung over the dreamscape, a bitter wind was carrying the sound of raised voices through the rolling mist.

"I won't do it!"

"Lucy, just calm down." Sporting a silver "H" emblem on his forehead, the Director was the only one of the crew not clad in a thick, woollen overcoat and wellington boots. "You just have to walk past them with everyone else."

"But they're-" Lucy's voice ended in a terrified squeak as she dared steal a glance at the rows of black-clad skeleton figures. "They're _dead_!"

"Oh, well _done_ Mrs. Saxon!" Gwen exclaimed. "Ten out of ten!" The camerawomen exchanged glances, but another icy wind fluttered the veils over the bleached skulls, giving them a momentary glimpse of hollow eye-sockets and lipless grins that set them shivering even in their warm clothing.

"They...they _are_ dead, right?" Tish asked nervously. "I mean, they're not going to...spring to life or anything when we walk past, are they?"

"Hm?" The Author glanced up from her manuscript, pen in hand. "Sorry - won't be a minute, just finishing this paragraph..." She reabsorbed herself in her writing, leaving the group of women to edge apprehensively away from the kneeling skeletons.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Francine snorted, and broke away from the huddle the characters had formed to stride up to the nearest skeleton. "They've been dead for centuries."

"I really don't think we should touch them, all the same," said Tejana warningly, and the other characters - along with the camerawomen - fervently nodded their agreement.

"The sooner we finish this scene, the sooner we can get back to FanFiction HQ," Francine replied, raising her hand towards the motionless figure. "I'm dying for a coffee. It's a prop. Look - just..."

"_No_!" There was a collective gasp from the entire crew and characters.

"...bones." With a dry clatter, the skeleton, undisturbed for time outside time, collapsed into a ramshackle heap of bones, beads and crumbling cloth. "Oops."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimers and Stuff:** If you want to divvy up the characters between me, Brownbug and the BBC, be my guest...

Woo! More! This one's tagged to chapter 27 of "Return to The Valiant".

* * *

"O.K., on the count of- no, not there - at the _front_..."

Scraping and shuffling echoed dismally down the entire length of the marble hall, broken occasionally by the raised voice of the set supervisor who was overseeing the positioning of the great throne.

"No - bend your _knees_, not your back. Do you want those health and safety inspectors back again?"

In any other scene location, such immensely heavy pieces of set would have been the least of the crew's problems. As a rule, it was frowned on, but the Director was by now quite practised in the selection of a few choice words in the right ears to borrow characters from other archives for a day - a few gorillas from the Wrestling archive usually, although he had recently struck up a friendship with Fezzick and Rubeus Hagrid, who were always pleased to help out. However, with the massive amounts of energy that the presence of Legion was draining from the entire FanFiction HQ, there was only just enough power available to sustain the Director's own hard-light holographic projection into the Nether World.

"Right - and...up, back, back, _mind that-_" There was a crunch, and several shouted curses. "...step."

At the entrance to the hall, bathed in the blood-red glow of the nightmarish landscape that the Nether World had become, the Director and the Author waited while, surrounded by boxes and stacks of film reels, an elderly archivist rummaged through ancient, dusty footage. Tejana, who appeared almost to be averting her eyes from the activity, was leaning against the edge of the doorway, examining the hem of her clean, white robe. Nearby, the tall, shadowy figure of Legion's assumed form stood at the top of the towering staircase, apparently surveying its domain and fingering the handle of the vicious scythe.

"Yes, Director, they're all here," the archivist spoke up with a pleased smile, peering short-sightedly over pince-nez glasses. "Now - how many flashbacks did you need again?" The Author quickly leafed through the manuscript, watched somewhat anxiously by Tejana, who quickly steeled her composure as she caught the Director glancing in her direction.

"Eighteen," the Author counted. "But we only see four."

"Oh - is that all, dearie?" The archivist appeared slightly disappointed. "I thought you might like to use some of these _nicer _ones..."

"How about these?" the Director suggested, nudging with his foot at the nearest box of film reels, all of which were labelled with red "angst" warnings. "Few more won't hurt, will it?"

"Oh gods, no!" Tejana grimaced. "Are you trying to cut me into ribbons?" A swishing sound at his back caused the Director to turn in alarm - Legion had swung its scythe through the air with a speed that could have sliced flesh like soft butter. Still facing out over the high, sweeping staircase, it adjusted the position of its hands on the handle and swung again, this time slower. Over and over, the glittering blade traced its deadly path in the light of the hellfire far below, moving faster and faster - until there was a clash of steel on marble, and suddenly, the scythe was clattering down the marble staircase and the Death-figure stood empty handed, watching the weapon's progress until it came to rest a short distance from the bottom. Far below, a piercing shriek rang out from the circle of women who waited, and the Director could just make out Lucy Saxon leaping to her feet and pointing at the scythe - and then silence fell. Tejana eyed the archivist, the archivist blinked in bewilderment at the Director, and the Director held his breath.

Finally, he could stand it no longer.

"Well go on, go and get it, then," he snapped at Legion, his voice coming out perhaps higher than he would have liked. "We don't have all day."

At first, the demon gave no sign that it had heard. Then, slowly, so slowly, it turned its head, and the Director felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he was met with the faceless gaze beneath the hood of the robed creature. No eyes were visible in that inky, impenetrable shadow, but he found himself feeling as though the demon was seeing into his very soul, and he shivered, lowering his eyes. Legion's gaze rested on him for an interminable pause that could have lasted lifetimes for the quailing Director - and then, with a noiseless movement of its flowing robes, it raised one arm and pointed a shadowy finger down the stairs.

"Oh," was all the Director managed.

Hand still upraised and pointing, Legion watched wordlessly as the Director shuffled past and began to descend the marble staircase.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own stuff and whatnots. Most of what's in this one is Brownbug's actually.

Hum. Suppose I could have called this thing "One Moment in Time: The Bloopers" now, actually, since I'm covering a bit more of the series. Oh well. This one is tagged to chapter 2 of "The Master's Rose" (ID 6943105).

* * *

Where they had come from, the Director couldn't have said.

How they had come to this place – the acres wild of a distant planet in a far-flung constellation – he was equally flummoxed.

What they were saying, he was starting to wonder. They were always there, those incessant whispers, the mutterings that almost blended with the rustling they made as they moved through the stalks of wheat, following Tejana as she strolled along the dirt road. There had been more and more of them lately – in fact, the Director could have sworn there must have been a few hundred by now – always present, always _just_ out of sight.

The cameras swung around to focus on the stray wisps of smoke on the Northern horizon and the Director hastily stepped back. Behind him, he heard them furtively scuttling deeper into the wheat and moving around him to keep the Time Lady in sight.

It bothered the Author, he could tell. She stood beside him now, and although her eyes closely followed the fanfiction manuscript in her hands, they narrowed in irritation at a cluster of hastily hushed giggles at her back, and the two exchanged exasperated glances.

"I'm sure there weren't that many last time I did genfic," the Director murmured, and the Author nodded.

"Sometimes they fave, though," she replied under her breath.

In the middle of the road, Tejana had come to a halt and inhaled deeply, taking in a heady dose of the Mnemosyne air, and the Director's gaze returned to his own copy of the manuscript.

"Right, Tejana – let's have some tongue," he called.

"_Excuse_ me?" The Time Lady whirled to fix him with a scandalized glare. A storm of snickering erupted from the wall of wheat and the Director brandished the manuscript irritably. "Oh…right." While she stuck out her tongue and attempted a gustatory-olfactory analysis of the air, the Director headed for the archivist, who raised her glasses to her eyes and squinted at him in the sunlight.

"I've got it right here, Director," she smiled, holding up an ancient-looking film reel. "Not an easy one to find, let me tell you…" The Director took the flashback with an absent nod of thanks; Tejana was walking again now, and on the point of collapse.

But his expression soon twisted itself into a grimace of disgust as several loud clicks and whirrs rang out, accompanied by bright flashes that left spots dancing before his eyes. The hands holding the cameras dropped quickly out of sight, back into the thick, golden wheat, and the glowering Author rolled her eyes at the Director, who shrugged helplessly.

* * *

**Author's note:** Yup, that's what you are, all you people who read and occasionally fave without reviewing. Stalkers hiding in fields of wheat. (Heh..._stalkers_...that just hit me...oh dear...)


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Jack Harkness is _definitely_ not mine! (That doesn't mean you can have him, though! XD )

This one is tagged to chapter 10 of "Return to The Valiant" - and, for the first time _ever_, I'm having to put a **warning** for sexual references! *gasp*

* * *

The steadily passing time was doing nothing to alleviate the growing discomfort that the Director couldn't quite shake. In fact, if they had to wait much longer, he was certain that even the Doctor might realize what exactly they were waiting for – or rather, _who_ they were waiting for. Tejana and Jack had been up in Jack's office for nearly two hours now, during which time the Time Lord had managed to crash and reboot Torchwood's mainframe computer four times, hopped forwards half an hour in the Master's TARDIS, recounted a tale of unicorns and superheroes to the increasingly sceptical Amy, and was now bustling around the coffee machine, whistling through his teeth.

"How much coffee do they drink around here?" he was muttering absently. "None – not a tot, not a bean, not a sausage…no, wait – they do have sausages. Where was I? Ah, coffee." With a disappointed sigh, he pushed the drawers shut and turned to the Director. "Coffee, Director. They're out of coffee. You'd like a coffee, wouldn't you? I'll just go and let Jack know – they must have-"

"Doctor?" Amy called out sharply as the Doctor made a move towards the stairs. He stopped in his tracks and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Pond?"

"You…ah…" Amy Pond wasn't one to be easily embarrassed by these situations, but even she didn't relish the idea of destroying the Doctor's apparently genuine innocence. "You _really_ don't want to go up there."

"Don't worry – I'll only be a moment," the Doctor tried to assure her. "They won't even catch me on the cameras – I'll just stick my head round the door, tell Jack we're out of coffee and be back before you can say…before you can say 'Doctor, you're back'! _Coffee_, Amy."

"_Jack_, Doctor."

"Yes, Jack," the Doctor agreed patiently. "Jack, who apparently does not keep his secret base well-provisioned." Amy's glances towards the Director were becoming more desperate, until he could no longer ignore her.

"Jack," he put in, "who has _secrets_ in said secret base. They're filming a level four, archive code fuchsia, closed footage scene with remote recording and no FTB. Spoilers," he added as a last resort, and to his relief, this seemed to satisfy the Doctor.

"Ah. Spoilers." He nodded understandingly. "Right, I won't peek. I'll just sort of…shout through the door."

"No – the microphones might be near the door." The Director wasn't so much scrambling for an excuse now – if it took the two characters up in the office two hours every time, the last thing he wanted to have to do was to make them run a second take because of the Doctor's voice coming through on the tapes. "I'll go." And before he knew it, he had found himself heading for the stairs.

Trying his utmost to keep his footfalls silent as he ascended, he stepped carefully around the Author, who was happily sealing review replies in envelopes, and approached the closed double doors that led to Jack's office. Again, he glanced at his watch – _two hours_ – and felt a prickle of annoyance. Just how much _had_ the Author put into that scene? For some seconds, he wrestled with his own discomposure, before leaning towards her and asking under his breath,

"How…um…how long is it supposed to take, exactly?"

"Oh, shouldn't take too long," she shrugged. "You know Jack – he doesn't waste time!"

"Well he's wasting _my_ time," the Director grumbled. It wasn't just his time, too – perhaps he had been directing too much angst lately, but he couldn't help feeling some pity for the Master from 2008 still locked up alone in the cold, dank Weevil cells below the Hub. Last scene of the chapter, he reminded himself, and then they could all go home. The faint sound of voices was murmuring through the closed door – they _must_ be finished, surely – and although a not-too-deep part of him was still squirming, he stepped up to the door and put his ear to the metal.

"Oh, get on with it!" Tejana's voice – impatient, and the Director could hardly blame her.

"O.K., O.K. Can I go there?" That was Jack's voice, no doubt.

"I already told you – 560 Altarian dollars."

"Oh, go easy, Tejana!" Jack groaned. "I haven't had free parking for _ages_…"

"You don't get _anything_ for free, Jack." Pulling his head away from the door, the Director had to do a double-take – yes, this was _definitely_ still the "Return to The Valiant" set – and his worst fears were confirmed. All awkwardness blown to the wind, he shouldered open the door and strode through.

"CUT!" he bellowed. "No, no, _no_ – that's all wrong – you've _completely_ lost the mood. This is supposed to be- oh." Jack and Tejana turned their heads and he stopped short, just missing stepping on the Jaare-Oregim music box which lay abandoned on the floor. The couple – and he had to remind himself that they _were_ supposed to be a couple at the sight which met him – were seated opposite each other across Jack's desk, both still fully clothed. The Director couldn't deny he felt some relief at the latter observation, and his eyes strayed to Jack's hand, which was creeping across the desk towards Tejana while the Time Lady was distracted eyeing the Director with what he thought might have been defiance. She was more alert than she was letting on, though; without even bothering to turn around, she swatted at his hand and a few pieces of paper slipped from his palm.

"Come on, pay up."

"I can't!" Jack protested. "You've cleaned me out."

"No I haven't." She leaned across the desk and pointed to something on Jack's side, her eyes sparkling wickedly. "You could give me your Sash of Rassilon – look, it's only worth $150. I'll do you a deal – that plus two of those 'Get out of Stormcage Free' cards. And if you land on my Thal Dome, I'll give you three turns to pay."

"But you have the Staff – then you'd have both the utilities." Jack looked mournfully down at his meagre row of face-down cards. "I've already taken out a double mortgage on Mount Perdition." It took the Director a moment to mentally shake himself, blink and pretend he hadn't noticed two Untempered Schism cards dropping out of Jack's sleeve under the desk.

"Hang on, hang on – _what_ is going on here?" he demanded.

"You tell me," Tejana replied frostily, with a meaningful glare over the Director's shoulder. "I'm surprised it took you this long to realize you weren't getting any _action_." Following her gaze, the Director's eyes alighted on a small, unobtrusive – or so he had thought – tinted glass dome in the corner of the ceiling.

"Remote recording," he said. "I thought we discussed that – didn't we agree it would be easier to set the mood without a bunch of camera crew and sound technicians in here?"

"What we _didn't_ discuss was that it wouldn't turn off after the fade-to-black." Leaning back in the chair, she folded her arms and crossed her legs, lips pressed tightly together, her whole body language aloof and frigid. "I expect you were all enjoying it very much out there. What about the Master – does he have a screen down in that cell?" The Director's face dropped to his palm; rubbing his eyes, he drew a deep breath and tried to collect his thoughts into an explanation that wouldn't compromise their continuity.

"Look, the reason there's no fade-to-black is because…_if_ you survive this fanfiction…we _might_ need the scene for flashbacks." Tejana arched her eyebrows, and he realized the vital detail he had missed. "And there's no-one watching, anyway. Closed footage – wh- _if_ the timelines are erased, no-one should remember it."

"There isn't?" A flicker of disappointment passed across Jack's face, but then it was gone and he brightened considerably. "There you go, Tejana – saved by the canon. Now, how about taking this code fuchsia to a level five, eh?" To the Director's immense relief, the Time Lady finally seemed reassured, and rose to pick up the music box.

"I owe you one," Jack mouthed over her shoulder to the Director as he opened a drawer and swept the board and into it with such haste that half the cards scattered across the carpet.

"He was cheating before we even started playing, anyway," said Tejana, while Jack reclined in his chair and reached out to flick the desk lamp on.

"Hey – am I really that kinda guy?" Jack winked, his blue eyes sparkling.

"Jack," the Director sighed, turning off the lights and backing out of the door, "you never _stop_ playing."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** *sigh* Own nothing... :(

This one's tagged to chapter 15 of "The Master's Rose", and if you've read that, you'll know what the **warning** on this is for. ;) If not, (why not? :P ) just know that it is, after all, a romance fic...

* * *

_"You swore to me…you said it was just implied. K+, maybe T, you said…"_

_"I'm sorry – it's just in-character – they're both canon-"_

_"But why _you_? Why did _you_ have to get involved?"_

The Director awoke with a start, and immediately wished he hadn't as a throbbing pain shot through his head and settled to pound on the inside of his skull just behind his temples. Groggy and disorientated, it took him several seconds to realize that his eyes were already open, and the pitch-blackness that was wrapped around him like a shroud was, in fact, the total absence of light in wherever it was he had found himself.

This Mnemosyne air was doing him no good whatsoever. He had been fairly certain that the whole crew had been vaccinated against the pathogenic bacteria before filming had begun, but it only offered an incomplete protection. Cases of full-blown mnemosis like those the characters were experiencing had been infrequent so far – just enough to raise the tally of sick days – but most of them had been plagued by the occasional flashback and sense of déjà vu nonetheless. It occurred to the Director as he fought to once again bury his own submerged memories that perhaps he was having a reaction to the vaccine, until he sniffed cautiously and the sickly-sweet whiff of what could well have been chloroform reached his nostrils.

"Hhhrrrmmmph!" he cried out, and almost choked on the cloth gag that had been roughly stuffed into his parched mouth. When his head stopped spinning, he was able to collect his thoughts enough to realize that he was sitting with his back to a smooth surface, legs cramped up in an uncomfortably confined space; he wriggled, confirming – yes, his wrists and ankles were bound tightly. "Hhrrmmph! Nnggmmm, nnngrrrmmmph!"

Across the lush landscape of Mnemosyne, the humid night was as still and silent as if the crew and characters had never been there. A lone horse had broken free of her hitching and come trotting out of the narrow ravine in search of the fresh green grass they had ridden across that afternoon. Catching sight of an unfamiliar object as she emerged, she let out a startled snort and her ears pressed down flat against her head, but when the object remained motionless, she whickered softly and continued on her way, passing by without further concern the man in the red Hussar's jacket who was slumped unconscious against the cliff-face, bottle in hand.

Some way further down the ravine, the other horse had not been offered the same privileges as the mostly-human crew. Borrowed from the Lord of the Rings archive overnight while the local horses were being reshod, the unfortunate animal had not yet developed an immunity to the airborne pathogen. Still tethered to the boulder, he stood swaying slightly on wide-placed legs, eyes glazed and pupils dilated as he cantered across the Pelennor Fields, carrying his bold warrior of Rohan into battle. His ears didn't even twitch at the unmistakeably masculine moans and feminine gasps that emitted from a crack in the sheer cliff-face.

As the last flickering flames of the fire in the mouth of the cave died down to glimmering embers, a happy couple nestled together against the craggy wall, wrapped in nothing more than a travelling cloak and each other's arms.

"So was it worth it?" asked the Master huskily. He already knew the answer, of course, and Tejana had no need to reply. She nestled against him, eyes slipping closed, and a satisfied smile spread across his face. "I would never have thought you could swing a tripod that hard."

"Never thought _you'd_ be carrying zopiclone tablets in your pocket," she retorted after a few seconds.

"Be prepared, that's always been my motto," the Master chuckled.

"We're going to need to retake that scene, you know," Tejana murmured.

"I look forward to it…"


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** Don't own anyone who belongs to Brownbug or the BBC...obviously... This makes me a sad panda. Reviews make me a happy panda. Yep. I'm not in a very subtle mood tonight. :]

Woo! Summer holiday! Time for much fanfic - here, have a nice, long episode of Bloopersverse. Tagged to chapter 13 of "The Master's Rose" - proof that no horses were harmed during the making of that chapter. Oh look - it's the Writer from my other Bloopersverse fics making a cameo. Hello, me! *waves*

* * *

Recaps. Reiterations. Localized time loops distorting the causal nexus into semi-paradoxical temporal revolutions. In the Director's eyes, they all amounted to the same thing: a logistical nightmare. Certainly, he could see the poetic merit in showing such a climatic moment from the perspectives of both protagonists – that was why he was in this job, after all, not counting hits and filing paychecks in an office cubicle – but his heart still sank just a little as his eyes drifted across the glittering river towards the massive, towering dam that was to be demolished yet again.

"Hey, Boss?" He turned to see the stunt coordinator grinning at him, can of energy drink in one hand and clipboard in the other. "You've gotta sign this again. Don't bother reading the fine print – it's just a few extra details for repeated scenes. Same deal as before, yeah?"

"Well, it _is_ exactly the same sequence," the Director pointed out, taking the clipboard. "And it went smoothly enough the first time."

"Yeah – but that was just the dress rehearsal. _This_ time's the real deal!" Throwing an anxious glance over his shoulder, the Director had to hastily shush the stunt coordinator before he could express any further enthusiasm. Not only were most of the crew apprehensive enough as it was about wreaking destruction on such a massive scale as they were about to, but the two stood within hearing range of the Author and a Writer friend who had turned up that afternoon. The Director hadn't worked with that particular Writer for some time now, but he did remember that she was terribly superstitious. Fortunately, both their heads were bent over another fanfiction manuscript in the Author's hand, and neither appeared to have heard. The Director could just make out a murmured conversation passing between them.

"…and there's a little girl…"

"…but how about Cybermen? I mean, they could be patrolling around…"

"Hey, c'mon man," the stunt coordinator urged him, taking a swig of the energy drink.

"Sorry." Using the broad back of a nearby EquiDroid™ to rest the clipboard, the Director flipped to the back of the sheaf of paper and scrawled his signature on a dotted line. "So you're sure everything's set up to be _identical_ to last time?"

"How many ways can there be to build a whacking great wall?" the stunt coordinator shrugged. The Director's grip tightened on the clipboard, but the stunt coordinator winked at him over the top of his dark sunglasses and he reluctantly released it.

"O.K., looks like we're rea-" He was cut off by the stunt coordinator letting out an earsplitting _whoop_ and punching the air.

"Yeah! Let's go dambusting!"

Along the riverbank, the underwater camera crew pulled on their masks and flippers and slipped into the water. Moments later, a long, translucent arm rose above the surface and flashed the Director an O.K. signal, which he returned, before hurrying over to the treeline to take a film reel that the archivist handed to him. A props technician took the reins of the EquiDroid™ and raised its tail to unplug it, coiling the power cable into its compartment in the trunk of the tree. As it was led up the bank, the horses that Tejana and Hart were now mounted on snorted and shied back, but it showed no response, merely rotating its ears slowly and automatically adjusting the tension in the gears of its stay ligaments when the Master climbed onto its back. The Time Lord had been reclining against a tree for much of the afternoon with Tejana, shooting idle threats at Hart and unnerving the set supervisors. When an engineer had approached him with the blueprints for the reconstructed dam, he had casually fired the laser screwdriver straight through the paper five times.

"Those were just the bits you've got wrong," he had said; subsequently, no-one had dared to suggest that he rehearse his moves to bring down the dam.

_Well_, the Director reassured himself, watching the Master riding confidently out to the centre of the bridge, _it _is_ supposed to go wrong, after all_. If there was one advantage to the Master's sheer cockiness, it was that he had refused to admit that it was a miscalculation on his part that caused the accident in this scene. As long as he was convinced he had judged his laser blasts perfectly, he would do exactly the same as he had done last chapter. Sure, a few set supervisors and engineers might receive some furious death threats afterwards, but the Director was content to let that slide so long as he didn't have to convince the perfectionist Time Lord to deliberately make a mistake.

Across the river, the horde of Lordsmen was packing away Thermos flasks and packed sandwiches. Silas was shouting instructions, dividing the men into groups to take horses and EquiDroids™, and the Director spotted two shimmering heads with large eyes ducking back beneath the water.

"Places?" he bellowed up the bank. "And…_action_!"

And action it certainly was; all of a sudden, the tranquil landscape was a tumult of activity – boom mics swinging out over the bridge, Tejana screaming, the camera crew winding their reels to accelerate as the point of view switched, the Lordsmen surging forwards, the nervous engineers ducking out of sight behind trees, the shrill whine of the laser screwdriver…

Beside the Author, the Writer was jigging up and down with anticipation, eyes wide – the Director guessed that she hadn't yet seen the manuscript for the rest of that scene. Following the photocopy in his hand from the safety of the treeline, it occurred to him that the Author wasn't holding the original, and he might have dwelled further on that, if it weren't for the wrenching crack of the dam giving way.

"Bombs away!" The stunt coordinator's yell was figuratively and thankfully drowned out by the roar of the cascade of water. Further up the bank, Tejana fought her way out of Hart's grip and came racing down, a cameraman hot on her tail, and for several pained minutes, everyone on the set held their breath – until a blond head broke the tumultuous surface and the two Lich, reliable as ever, hauled the Master up onto the bank where he lay unmoving.

"Does he need mouth-to-mouth?" the Director heard the Writer whisper behind him.

"Shh. He's a Time Lord," the Author answered with a meaningful glare. The Director waved his hand at them as Tejana arrived and knelt by him, followed by Hart.

"Are you _sure_ he doesn't need-"

"Shh."

"…humans don't have the advantage of a respiratory bypass system," came Tejana's clear voice – and sure enough, the Master's chest rose and fell in the unmistakeable movement of respiration. Curious, the Director turned to the Writer, shielding his mouth with the manuscript copy.

"You know how to perform CPR on a Time Lord?" he asked in a low voice.

"Not a clue," the Writer replied cheerfully.

...

The sun had long since set and the river settled into a steady, muddy flow by the time the Master had recovered from his mnemosis and been cleared by the medics to head back to the set for a briefing on the next chapter. The original copy of the fanfiction manuscript still hadn't turned up, and the Director's concern was growing. It wouldn't be the first time a manuscript had been lifted on-set; his only consolations this time were that the Master, at least, had a solid alibi, and that Hart had quickly volunteered himself for a strip-search. Still, so far, everything appeared to be in order. The Lordsmen weren't kayaking across the river, fast-food restaurants hadn't sprung up outside the Temple of the Pythia, Kelios hadn't drawn a light-saber and proclaimed to be the Master's father…in short, chaos had not yet descended, and the Director was just about ready to call it a day. The blasted thing had probably been left behind a tree somewhere – it would turn up by tomorrow.

"Right." He clapped his hands loudly for the attention of the characters, but it was some minutes before he got it. Even then, several of the Lordsmen seated on logs around the edge of the clearing continued their conversations in a low rumble, sipping coffee from polystyrene cups and unsuccessfully attempting to catch Tejana's eye. "Right. Quieter chapter tomorrow, you'll be pleased to know. No reason why we can't get it wrapped in a few takes, so I want you all down here by sunset, no delays. You lot," he nodded to the Lordsmen, "can probably finish early – we just need a glimpse of you in the first scene. Got it?"

"It's hardly a difficult role," Silas sneered. "Even for some of these buffoons." A polystyrene cup missed his head by a good foot as the men guffawed and the Director wearily turned back to the main characters.

"Master, you're spending most of the chapter unconscious. You know the deal by now – cooperate, don't stick a tranquiliser dart in Hart's back when he picks you up, and you can fake it."

"Can't wait," the Master muttered sourly. He had changed into dry clothes, the Director observed – black suit trousers with a "Vote Saxon" T-shirt – and the medics had given him a blanket, which he had kept over his shoulders for all of six seconds and was now coiling into a rope around one hand, looking for all the world as though he were planning the most efficient way to strangle someone with it.

"Tejana," the Director continued. "You've got to support him on your horse – now he's not a big guy, but- …what? You're not. Anyway, just a heads-up. And try to keep your temper with Hart, won't you? Hart, same goes for you as the Master – if you drop him, _you'll_ be answering to the reviewers."

"He'll be answering to _me_ first," Tejana growled, glaring fiercely at Hart, who feigned wiping his hand across his forehead and fanned himself, grinning.

"Couldn't say no to that, Princess."

"Why, you-" She started forwards, and the Master reached for his laser screwdriver before remembering that it had been lost in the river that day – but before the watching Lordsmen could even begin placing bets, the unexpected sound of a throat being cleared from the treeline caused their heads to turn, and the shadow of the backstage manager fell across the Master.

"There y'are." The Time Lord rolled his head around, stretching his neck, and glared at her.

"What?"

"Ya know perfectly well _what_, laddie – ah've only told ya six times this week." Apparently genuinely puzzled, the Master blinked at her. At his back, the Lordsmen resumed placing bets under their breath. For his part, the Director wasn't too sure who his money would have been on – until he caught sight of the sheaf of paper in the backstage manager's hand.

"Nope," the Master shrugged eventually. "Don't know what you're gibbering about, ape."

"Right." Without even a glance at Hart or Tejana, the backstage manager advanced on the Master and raised the sheaf of paper and a pen. "Let's refresh yer memory, shall we?"

"Oh, I'm _so_ scared," he sneered. Raising pen to paper, the backstage manager began to read aloud as she wrote slowly and deliberately in the margin of the page,

"'Before riding away from the river, the Master awoke fer…hmm…ten minutes.'"

"You're even more stupid than I thought," the Master snorted. "You do know the copies don't work, don't you?"

"'…an' told Tejana _exactly_ what he'd done when he left the set that afternoon,'" she continued as though she hadn't heard.

"I don't have time for…" He paused, and a thoughtful look passed across his face. "I was in the medics' tent when the mnemosis wore off. There was a vial of etorphine on one shelf – I tried to steal it but they gave me a blanket and chucked me out. I decided the Director would wait for me for the briefing and went to the catering trailer, but Kelios was there – not that I was avoiding him, of course, but there was one hell of a queue with those creature things that follow him around. So I went to my trailer, changed out of the wet clothes and decided I might as well get the briefing over and done with. And here I am." The moment his mouth snapped shut, his expression darkened with fury. "How _dare_ you-"

"'At that moment,'" the backstage manager dictated, "'he realized his terrible mistake.'"

"Oh."

"Knew we'd get there." She folded her arms and drew herself up to her full, considerable height. "Ah don't care if yer Lordship is the scourge of five or five hundred galaxies, ah've just about had it with picking up yer soggy, grubby clothes every evening. Ah bet he keeps his TARDIS tidy enough, eh lass?" she added to Tejana, who nodded before she could help herself.

"I am the _Master_," the Master retorted haughtily. "I am a Time Lord. I am over 900 years old. I am a psychopathic megalomaniac. I don't _do_ domestic."

"Oh, aye? Well, ah've never had to pick up after yer brother."

"He's got all those minions to do everything for him," the Master protested.

"That's between him and them."

He turned to Tejana, the picture of innocence as he flashed her his most charming Harold Saxon smile, but she was unmoved.

"You have _got_ to be joking."

"Now ah suggest," the backstage manager said, her voice low as she held the pen over the page once more, "that unless ya want t'find yerself handcuffed to a bedpost in Hart's trailer tomorrow morning…"

"Now hang on a minute – there's no need for this." The Director was beginning to feel it was about time he intervened, but his words apparently fell on deaf ears.

"…ya get over there and clear up yer mess before ah've finished this paragraph." For several seconds, the Master's eyes flickered between her and the watching characters; the Director could almost see the internal wrestling match behind his eyes between his pride and…well, his pride. Eventually, he raised his arms in mock surrender and laughed mirthlessly.

"Right, you've got me."

"What – you're not going to do it, are you?" Hart called after him as he stalked towards the treeline. "What kind of a canon villain do _you_ call yourself, then?"

"I wouldn't have wanted my hoodie smelling of ape anyway," the Master called back without deigning to turn his head.

"Any more of that, laddie, and you'll be doing _my_ ironing an' all," the backstage manager warned him.

Watching the Time Lord vanishing into the shadows, the Director could only shake his head in disbelief. It might not be _chaos_ in the true sense of the word, but clearly the world had, in fact, turned topsy-turvy tonight. Yes, it was time to call it a day.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** All herein belongs to the BBC or Brownbug. The other fanfictions glimpsed are not actual fics that I've seen or read - they're purely hypothetical.

Whew - got a bit sidetracked on this one! "One Moment in Time", chapter 3 - and there might be more of this chapter shortly, so watch this space! With thanks to Brownbug for betaing and feedback. :)

* * *

_It could have been hours or merely minutes_… The manuscript said so, Tejana reminded herself firmly for the umpteenth time. However long it took them to crawl through the ventilation shaft, to her, it would seem like a lifetime. Even so, she could have sworn they ought to be out by now, and she was sure they had taken more turns in the dim, metal shaft than they should have done. A map would have been nice, she thought – just a quick glance over the route they were to take, just for a fair idea of how long it should take them. But no – she was following the Master, of all people.

_What is it with men and asking for directions_? she grumbled to herself. Well, whether it was her own claustrophobia making their escape through the shaft seem interminable, or whether he too was beginning to think they must have gone wrong somewhere, she would be blowed if she was going to ask him. Gritting her teeth around the laser screwdriver, she crawled on.

Eventually, the Time Lord came to a halt and her hearts soared with relief at the sight of light filtering through a metal grating beneath his hands. All was silent, so he pushed out the hatch, swung his legs through and dropped. The next thing Tejana knew, he had let out a startled cry and his fingers were still gripping the edge of the shaft. Cursing inwardly – now they would have to retake their entrance to the room – she shuffled forwards.

"You're supposed to let go straight away," she called.

"I'll push you through first next time then, shall I?" his voice drifted back up through the hatch. Leaning over, her eyes widened – the Master's feet hung many metres above the ground, further than he could possibly have dropped, and as she peered through the dusty air, she could make out towering block-shapes surrounding him where he clung, white-knuckled to the shaft.

"The Endless Library…" she breathed.

"Not for…much longer," he pointed out, his breath hitching with effort as he pulled himself back up into the hatchway. Tejana grabbed the back of his hoodie with both hands and helped him haul himself over the edge. "In case you've forgotten, this _is_ the last day of the Time War. Come on." Without a backwards glance, he set off again down the tunnel.

"We don't have long, then." Tejana moved to follow, skirting carefully around the edge of the open hatch. "Look, if we call out, I'm sure the Director will send a props engineer or someone down here and-"

"It'll be quicker to find it ourselves," said the Master. "I know where I am now."

Some time later, he was once again kicking out a hatch, barely pausing to listen first. They both winced at a horrific crash of metal on metal that followed, and then again at a bellowed,

"CUT!" Peering over the edge, they were met with angry stares as most of the Time Lord High Council – with the exception of the Visionary, who continued to scribble on her parchment – craned their necks upwards, a few rising from their seats around the ornate bronze table.

"_What_ is the meaning of this?" A red-faced Producer strode into view and glared up at the two, raising a hand to halt Rassilon, whose gauntlet had begun to glow. "We are creating a work of _art_ in here! The High Council, they have an important decision to make – to save their planet and their people, or to doom them to total extermination – _how_, I ask you, can these noble Time Lords, upon whose mighty shoulders rests-"

"Oh, can it, you," the Master sneered, and leaned over further to turn his attention to the head of the table. "I have a score to settle."

"My Lord Master." Rassilon inclined his head in mock formality. "You have been most fortunate in this canon. Consider this before seeking your misplaced vengeance."

"What are you talking about?"

"Our salvation will come – but not at your hand, my Lord Master," said Rassilon with a knowing smirk. "The rhythm of four – that bridge across time itself – resides in the mind and madness of your nemesis…the Doctor."

"It's a role-reversal fic," Tejana whispered to the Master. "Come on, let's get moving." A distant explosion sounded, rumbling along the ventilation shaft, and the Master reluctantly drew back to continue along the tunnel.

They were only too keen to hurry onwards after stumbling into a fanfiction that must have been even more deserving of an M-rating than their own. While the Inquisitor and Commander Maxil hastily attempted to cover themselves with a tapestry that hung on the wall of the office, a Co-Director stepped up on the desk and furiously slammed the hatch back into place, narrowly missing the Master's fingers.

"She was with the Castellan in the Arcalians' wardrobe room last week," he shouted through the grating.

Further down the shaft, Tejana's ears pricked up at a distant sound that grew steadily louder as they crawled forwards – the unmistakeable scraping of boots on steel, rustling fabric and heavy breathing.

_Oh, thank the stars_! Time was pressing, and clearly the Director had felt that their journey had taken long enough and sent someone to find them. She opened her mouth to call out, but a feverishly warm finger on her lips silenced her and she lowered the screwdriver. In the gloom, she couldn't make out the Master's face, but he had come to a halt and she automatically drew closer to him as the shuffling ahead grew closer. Frightful images swam unbidden to the surface of her mind – a ventilation shaft wasn't exactly the most inviting setting at the best of times, and in the midst of the Time War… Daleks – they had used ventilation shafts before, hadn't they, on Satellite Five? What about the human-Dalek hybrids from Manhattan – that would explain the ungainly scuffling? Or something not even of their canon – 1408 – had _that_ ever been crossed over with Doctor Who?

"Oof!" A clang rang out down the tunnel, and the shuffling stopped – but the voice had been unmistakeably male and British, and the two crept forwards. Turning a corner, they found themselves quite literally face to face with a young-faced Time Lord wincing and rubbing his head. Both the Master and Tejana recognized him immediately as a future Doctor, dressed in rather dusty Gold Usher's robes, with thick, brown hair sticking up in all directions and bright green eyes that widened in surprise at the sight of them.

"Oh – hello!" he greeted them cheerfully. "Master – I've been looking everywhere for you. River's managed to reconfigure the temporal limiters to get the TARDIS through the Time Lock, but it won't last long. Funny – I thought you'd be in a…cell or a dungeon or something. How am I supposed to be the hero in this fic if it looks like you're already rescuing yourself?"

"I don't need your help, Doctor," the Master growled. "Get out of my way."

"Well, a 'thanks for the offer' would be nice." The Doctor appeared somewhat put out. "Or how about a 'yes, let's escape the Time Lock together and travel the stars' – in fact, I'm _sure_ that's what you were supposed to say. Of course, that's not really-"

"We're not your canon," Tejana interrupted.

"What do you mean, not my canon? Of _course_ it's my canon – look, I'm canon, the Master is canon, the Time War is canon. I don't know about you, but _I _am in a great big melting pot of canon here. We've just…stirred it up a bit, that's all."

"Did that last regeneration completely fry your brain?" said the Master tersely. "We're not your fanfiction. This is 'One Moment in Time'."

"They've only got a limited amount of time to use the Citadel," Tejana explained. "Last day of the Time War, and all that. Everyone's got to finish filming and evacuate before the Doctors use the Moment."

"Oh. Right. Right, of course…" the Doctor nodded. "That explains the booking board I saw outside the Panopticon. O.K., well, if I could just get past you, then…" Both Time Lords pressed themselves back as hard as they could against the sides of the shaft; it created all of a hand's width space. They moved their heads to one side, then the other, and the broad-shouldered future Doctor scooted forwards in an unsuccessful attempt to squeeze past the more slender Master. "Well, this is going to be awkward," he grinned, undeterred. "I suppose you could always go over the top of me. Or I could be on top, if you'd prefer-"

"Shut up and start back-pedalling." Moving back into the centre of the shaft, the Master began to crawl forwards, forcing the Doctor back inch by inch.

"Hey – that's not fair," he protested. "Why can't you two-"

"Majority rules," Tejana pointed out in a hard voice, following the Master closely. "Go on – get your gear in reverse."

The Doctor had to struggle not to tangle himself in the long, cumbersome robes as he backed his way down the shaft, and hit his head several more times as they rounded corners. Progress was even slower than before, the ventilation shaft was growing warm and stuffy, and amazingly, they hadn't seen an intersection for the longest stretch yet when he paused over a hatch. The light visible through the grating was a cold, sterile white, far from the soft lamplight of the administrative office the Master and Tejana were looking for. Apparently, the Doctor decided it wasn't his exit either, as he took one look and pushed himself backwards again, but the Master reached out and gripped the front of his robes.

"You've been getting in my way for too long, Doctor."

"Now there's no need to be hasty, Master. I'm sure there's another hatch back there somewhere – in fact, I saw one when I was coming up here – nice, quiet little office, few camera crew waiting around but nothing…much… Oh." He had lowered his eyes to the room below again, and trailed off when he raised his head to see the Master's other fist that wasn't holding his robes crackling with sparks of white-hot energy and Tejana's laser screwdriver aimed directly at his forehead. "Oh. Right, O.K., let me just see how this hatch opens…"

"Like this, I think." Tejana didn't give him a chance to finish. She was hot and bothered and impatient, the planet was about to be obliterated, and while she would have given anything to see the Doctor in her own fanfiction show up, _this_ Doctor was not her father and she had very little sympathy to spare at that moment. The shrill whine of the laser screwdriver rang out in the echoing shaft and the grating fell out from beneath the Doctor's hands, the Master only just letting go in time to avoid being pulled through as the Doctor fell face-first through the hatchway. A resounding crash of what could only have been shattering glass, followed by a crunch and further smashing and tinkling, had them both cringing – and then there was a scream of rage.

"_Doctor_! You blundering idiot – I might have known!"

The two exchanged glances, and without a moment's hesitation, began scrambling forwards down the shaft as fast as they could manage. Behind them, the piercing voice continued, carrying along the ventilation shaft as though it were pursuing them.

"Do you have _any_ idea how long it took me to set up those experiments? You think I would trust equipment this delicate to those clumsy oafs they call props technicians? That five-dimensional refractometer is practically irreplaceable…"


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Just borrowing a few tools, I'll put them back later.

This is tagged to between chapters 25 and 26 of "The Master's Rose".

* * *

"Lights, camera…oh no, wait – no lights. No lights."

Lying on the cold, hard ground, Tejana could make out the sounds of the men in the dungeon shuffling around in the darkness, arguing in whispers, each trying to secure themselves a spot in view of the cameras. As the Director raised his voice, the muttering grew more frantic, and eventually fell still, leaving the dungeon in almost complete silence.

"Places – and…_action_."

Now that the twenty or so extras that had been picked from the local villages had gotten over their initial excitement at appearing in a fanfiction – followed by star-struck incoherence, followed by stage fright, followed by camera-shyness – the take seemed to be running fairly smoothly. Tejana had the impression they had developed an almost zealous rivalry, each determined to out-compete the others for the chance to "make it big". While all around, they nodded and scowled, hoping to be caught a glimpse of when the lights turned on, she gripped Brandon's hand – sensible, reliable Brandon, content with his role – and continued her solemn dialogue.

"The Dark Lord…he steals the life energy of the men he takes for the Gift."

Matthias was the next to speak. Slightly further away than Brandon, and under strict instructions to keep his face half in shadow when the light came on, he was sporting an impressive black eye from a fist-fight with two Lordsmen outside the catering trailer that each insisted the other had started. An extra followed, voice dripping with grim sarcasm.

"In case you hadn't noticed, we're locked in a dungeon in the dark."

"Ah, you never know," came…not one, not two, but at least _five_ voices simultaneously, seemingly from all around the dungeon. "Perhaps I could help with that." Startled, Tejana sat up straight, turning her head this way and that to see the separate glows of five wrist straps winking on, lighting up five identical faces in the blackness.

"CUT!" The Director's voice followed moments later, and two spotlights flickered on. Blinking in the sudden glare, the men and Tejana glanced around in confusion as five John Harts, leaning casually against the walls of the dungeon, lowered their wrist straps, grinning.

"Told you she was worth a look," said one – presumably their own – and Tejana scowled as five pairs of slate eyes moved appreciatively over her.

"All right, what's going on?" the Director demanded, snatching a key off a set supervisor, unlocking the dungeon door and throwing it open with a clang. "No – on second thoughts, I don't want to know. You've had your fun – now go on, clear off, the lot of you." Still smirking, the Harts made their way over to the door and filed out past the Director.

"Thought you liked a bit of _action_," one leered as he passed.

"I'll see you boys in the Rover's tonight, then," their own Hart called, and with four crackling surges of Rift energy, the surplus Time Agents had activated their wrist straps, waved and vanished back to their own fanfictions.

After a quick mental calculation of how many rules, codes of practise and by-laws had just been breached, the Director sighed and shoved his still-blank clipboard and the key into the hands of the set supervisor.

"They were never here?" Hart winked; the Director pointedly turned away and motioned for the lights to be extinguished.

"O.K., from your entrance, Brandon. Places? And…_action_."

Once again, Tejana found herself cloaked in inky blackness, fumbling for the comfort of the human man's large, warm hand. The murmur of fear that rumbled through the men when she broke the news about Corin was considerably quieter this time around, she thought – just a few scattered noises of consternation – and she wondered briefly whether the manuscript had been altered slightly when Brandon pulled away from her comforting embrace without a word.

"We have to get out of here," said Matthias urgently. "Before we all end up dead to-" Was it just her imagination, or had his voice cut off rather too abruptly? Just a fraction of a second too soon to sound quite…natural.

"In case you hadn't noticed, we're locked in a dungeon in the dark." It was a different extra that spoke this time, woodenly and barely managing to convey the sarcasm of the first. When there was no sign of an interruption from the Director, Tejana felt a shiver of apprehension run up her spine. All of a sudden, she was starkly aware of how complete the darkness was, how heavy the silence seemed to have become – she was sure she couldn't even hear the anxious breathing of the men around her any more. There was an interminable pause; she reached for Brandon's hand again but felt only cold stone beneath her fingertips.

And then, sending her hearts leaping into her throat, a husky voice spoke from close behind her, inside the cell, a barely passable mimic of an American accent.

"Ah, you never know, perhaps I could help with that." She whirled around and her mouth dropped open at the sight of a familiar pair of chocolate brown eyes in a sharp-featured, handsome face, white-blonde hair standing out clearly in the glow of the wrist strap in his hands.

"Oh gods – Koschei!" she gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like?" he replied, shuffling closer and holding out the wrist strap to illuminate her face.

"Where's the Director?" She peered around, but could make out nothing in the darkness beyond the bubble of light that seemed to enclose the two of them. For a moment, she thought she might have caught sight of the booted feet of one of the men, but the Master quickly moved the light back towards his own face.

"Do you really want to know?"

Tejana considered this. It didn't take long. She hadn't seen the Master for over four chapters now, and she didn't think she would be far wrong in guessing that the same amount again lay ahead of her. The scenes with Kelios in between had left her feeling utterly drained, she was aching and tense, and something in the Master's eyes told her he hadn't fared much better.

"Turn that light back off, then."

* * *

**Author's note:**

There we go - even the Master is capable of a nice Valentine's Day surprise! :3


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** *mournful sigh* Own nothing...

Whee - keeping up with the original here! This one's tagged to chapter 27 of "The Master's Rose".

* * *

"Let's just hope a swarm of Vashta Nerada haven't made a home here too…"

The characters' apprehension was all too genuine, and the Director, following the manuscript as the cameras rolled, couldn't help but feel some sympathy for them. There, at least, was one statement that he could vouch for. After all, it had taken the pest control team from FanFiction HQ a good week before they could declare the whole Cruciform free of the flesh-eating shadow creatures – and he knew _exactly_ who would foot the bill.

Apparently, some of the crew had missed the memo, as they began scrambling in their pockets for torches and the Director had to frantically motion to them to stop. Their numbers were a few less since that morning, and the medics' tent outside filled with camera crew and set supervisors nursing nasty burns from blaster pistols. Fortunately, although the fact that the scene had been filmed entirely in pitch darkness may have been at least partly to blame for some of the mishaps, it also meant that the thumps of heavy cameras and equipment being dropped could pass for the required sounds of the fight. In fact, when they had turned the lights back on after the scene was wrapped, to the Director's disconcertion, there were barely any Lich to be seen.

Of the remaining crew, most had been grinding their teeth by the time they restarted after Hart had spent the entire lunch break tunelessly whistling "Let the Bodies Hit the Floor" through his teeth. Snatches of it still kept coming through on the microphones, hummed under the breath of one crew member or another – nothing the sound technicians couldn't filter out, the Director fervently hoped.

From what he could see now – and he knew precious little Gallifreyan and even less computer source code – Tejana was working her way into the computer system without a hitch, and he and the camera crew moved closer.

"My spidey-senses are tingling, Princess," Hart called, and several camera crew, taking their cue, swivelled towards the holographic viewscreen in readiness.

"I'm going as fast as I can!"

"…_one, nothing wrong with me, two, nothing wrong wi-_" There was a barely audible scuffle of a toe being stepped on and the murmur of song was cut short – and then all eyes were on the viewscreen as the image of a young Time Lord shimmered into view. He was turned slightly to one side, gesturing with one hand as he spoke, his tone frustrated.

"…but this technology is _archaic_! Even your audio rendering software must be centuries out of date. No…no – it's the package from FanFiction HQ. Look, tell the Director I could upgrade the video input in six rels if he-…what? What?" He turned towards the camera, but his eyes didn't meet those of Tejana, instead apparently catching sight of something just above the screen. "Oh – it's already recording. Right – what if I-" His hand reached out towards one corner, and then the transmission was cut short, leaving the screen blank.

The bemused silence in the Axis didn't last long.

"Keep rolling, keep rolling…" the Director ordered, waving towards the camera crew. "There might be another one coming through in a minute…"

"That was…" Tejana was shaking her head in stunned disbelief. "That was _Damon_. From the _Valiant_ – Damon Smi-"

"Yes, yes," the Director cut in hastily. "Keep watching the screen. You haven't seen it yet, O.K.?"

"But why-" Again, the screen flickered; again, the dark-haired Time Lord appeared, this time facing the screen, his expression drawn and weary, and the Axis fell silent.

"My name is Damon, of the House of Windcrest," he said solemnly as Tejana's eyes filled with tears. "I am a Time Lord of Gallifrey, known as the Technician…" Something moved at the corner of the screen, visible just for an instant; the Director wondered if it might have been a trick of the light, a shifting reflection on the screen – until it reappeared, wandering in from one side in the shape of a lighting technician in the background behind Damon, polystyrene coffee cup in one hand, cellphone held to her ear with the other. She raised her head and her eyes widened, and the Director could just make out an embarrassed apology called out over her shoulder as she hurried off-screen. "This evil would not exist, but for-…what?" Damon turned, the lighting technician's voice came again, and then the screen darkened.

"Hey – do we ever get to do more than just _watch_ him?" came Hart's voice from near the door. "Wouldn't mind getting a _very_ close look at that one…"

"Keep rolling…" the Director reminded the crew, ignoring the Time Agent. His eyes were on Tejana, and he moved to offer her a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but the screen filled with static for a third time and he quickly stepped back out of sight of the cameras.

This time, Damon was only half visible on the screen, standing to one side. There were raised voices in the background, and as he appeared, he spun around and leaned towards the camera.

"Sorry – you'll have to delete this recording," he said, his eyes darting between the camera and what sounded like an escalating argument off-screen. "There's been a bit of a misunderstanding – the operator at FanFiction HQ must have…" He trailed off, turning back to the side. From somewhere off-screen, one voice rose above the rest, dark and harsh with icy fury.

"Incompetent insects! My Matrix is corrupted beyond repair!" A whining buzz, vaguely reminiscent of a sonic screwdriver, filled the air, and Damon's surroundings were suddenly bathed in a blood-red light. Moments later, the holographic transmission was replaced with fizzing static and white noise, before blinking out entirely.

"Owch." Hart didn't sound the slightest bit sympathetic, but the Director barely noticed him. For the first time, he began to feel the slightest twinge of apprehension. It seemed like the pause was stretching on for far longer than previously – if whatever had occurred had caused enough of a delay, if the team that had been sent to the Cruciform to liaise with Damon hadn't managed to get their message recorded before-

"My name is Damon, of the House of Windcrest." The Director's head snapped back around to the screen, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief at the sight of Damon facing the camera, his image and transmission crystal-clear and uninterrupted. He glanced quickly around at the crew – cameras were still rolling, microphones out of sight, Hart was once again on edge, standing guard by the door – and clutched the manuscript nervously in both hands as Damon's transmission played out apparently flawlessly.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…" At last, the sad soliloquy came to an end. The Director raised his hand in signal, counting down on his fingers to the camera crew as the loop replayed itself once, twice, three times…

"CUT! That's a wrap." The screen faded to black, and with a satisfied shuffle of the manuscript, the Director turned to the crew. "Right, take five, then outside for the Master to get here in the next scene. Someone needs to go back and meet the archivist – we're going to need a few flashbacks by the doors, and she won't be able to find-"

"Hope that's all right," a harried voice interrupted from somewhere overhead, and the crew and characters turned to see the image of a set supervisor slowly solidifying on the viewscreen. "We've just got a call that the Doctors will be using the Moment any minute now, so you'll have to do all the editing at your end. There might be a few false starts – sorry about that. Just checking – you're in the Citadel with Tejana and the Master? We'll send the tapes over there. Got to get going – cheers!"

Cursing under his breath, the Director scrambled for his cellphone, crossing his fingers that he hadn't exceeded his limit yet for temporally transcendent calls. How many times did he have to remind the crew – time was _never_ a strict progression of cause to effect in this fandom. Fanfictions were planned from a non-linear, non-subjective point of view, and especially when they involved the Time War…well, they were more like a big…ball…of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey…stuff.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** Anything I own is covered in goop and feathers. Hopefully, this is not. Spock, tell 'em I don't own it.

Yes! The Bloopersverse is not dead! The Bloopersverse is alive, and rocking the dance floor! *ahem* Right. Tagged to chapter 25 of "Falling Out Of The World". Oh, and no, Brownbug did not spell "chandelier" wrong - I did. Several times. And then realized, and turned it into a Bloopers episode - and subsequently spent the next two pages arguing with MS Word autocorrect over it. So don't let's be scrutinizing the spelling in the original fic, eh?

* * *

Somewhere, a line had been crossed.

Somewhere…the Director was coming to the horrifying realization that _somewhere_, he had moved from coordinating the preparation, establishment, arrangement and filming of a central scene in a fanfiction…to throwing a party. And to add injury to insult, it wasn't even what he might, in his wilder university days, have called a party. This…was an Event.

He hadn't seen the manuscript all morning; in fact, he had all but forgotten about it. Scurrying back and forth across the magnificent Ballroom, a perigosto stick under each arm, bellowing out orders left, right and centre, he was all too aware of the disapproving eyes of the senior Time Lords on him. It was always the same, filming with Time Lords. Oh, they left the running of their Citadel, and the organizing of their events, to the oppressed servant underclass, certainly – but a whole chapter of a fanfiction centred on their society and rigid customs? Well…when it was their _posterity_ at stake, that was apparently enough to have them personally oversee everything. It didn't help matters that some of the younger Time Lords had showed up, apparently just to witness the spectacle.

"Is he a _human_?" A haughty voice rang out over the hubbub, and out of the corner of his eye, the harried Director caught a glimpse of Ushas, still in her Academy tunic, standing at the bottom of the staircase. "How can a human possibly organize the Otherstide Ball?"

"He's not organizing the Ball – he's organizing the chapter about it," Drax attempted to placate her.

"Well, he's not doing a very good job," Ushas sniffed.

Already at the end of his tether, the Director might have been forgiven for throwing down the perigosto sticks then and there and threatening to have the Author write the Time Lady out of the script. At that moment, though, his eyes landed on something at the far end of the ballroom, in the middle of the onyx dance floor – something which, to his experienced eye, stood out like a sore thumb. Throwing a half-hearted, exasperated glare at Ushas, he whirled around and scurried back the way he had come.

The elaborate silver and crystal chandelier had been meticulously polished several chapters ago by the cast – but of course, that wasn't enough for the exacting standards of the Time Lords, and there was now a small group of props technicians clustered around it, cloths in hands. Unlike the Shobogan characters, the fanfiction crew had no qualms about loudly voicing their discontentment and opinions of the Time Lords – but his perpetual internal debate about whether to order them to be quiet was the last thing on the Director's mind.

"Stop, stop!" Brandishing the perigosto sticks like signal flags, he advanced on them. "What do you call _that_?"

"It's…the chandelier, Director," a set supervisor answered hesitantly, clearly reading the Director's mood like an open manuscript.

"No it's not!" the Director shot back irritably, glaring at the offensive object and setting down the perigosto sticks. "You've spelled it wrong! It's _chandalier_." The set supervisor frowned and turned back to the chandelier.

"No we haven't – look. Chandelier. That's how it's spelled."

"No, it's not!" the Director insisted. "_Chandalier_. People are going to be reading this – do you _want_ these blatant spelling mistakes all the way through it?"

"I'm…I'm _sure_ it's right…" Biting her lip nervously, the set supervisor motioned to the props technicians to get back to their polishing; none paid the slightest attention.

"Listen here-" the Director began furiously – before he was cut short by a stern cough at his shoulder.

"Chandelier," a curt voice rapped. "C-H-A-N-D-E-L-I-E-R. And if you hadn't left _this_ down in the kitchens after breakfast, Director, you might have been able to check your spelling before throwing accusations at your staff." Somewhat taken aback, the Director turned, and the fanfiction manuscript was placed firmly into his hands by the Head Housemaid, Fionnula.

"Aren't you supposed to be-"

"That will do," Fionnula continued briskly to the props technicians, who hastily resumed their polishing of the chandelier. "Director, take those perigosto sticks down to the orchestra pit – they've been looking for them for nearly an hour now – and check that they've liaised with the sound engineers. When you're finished down there, you'd better have a word with Lord Koschei – he seems to think his dressing-room is haunted or some such nonsense. Then you can check the flower arrangements and…"

Before he knew it, the Director found himself slumped in the chair at the right hand of the Lord President's own chair, mopping his brow in a manner that would have made Chancellor Umbast proud. Having dismissed the overseeing Time Lords, Fionnula was perched in the Lord President's mighty throne, clipboard in hand, delivering orders to crew and characters alike who stepped up onto the dais before her. The Time Lords and Ladies attending the Ball were filing in now, sweeping across the spotless floor in their heavy robes and high collars, and the Shobogan servants were already starting to move among them, ready for the chapter to begin.

The exhausted Director could barely muster the energy to ask as Fionnula dispatched a pair of uniformed guards from FanFiction Security with a wave of her hand. They moved silently around the edge of the dance floor to discreetly escort out a Time Lady who was most certainly not on the guest list; hair dyed in irregular streaks of Prydonian scarlet and orange, a glass of champagne in her hand, she appeared to be attempting to coerce Vansell out onto the dance floor, towering in stiletto heels over the scrawny little Time Lord.

Watching in weary disbelief, the Director couldn't help but wonder if it would be purely selfish on his part to beg the Author to include Fionnula in every chapter.


End file.
